Please Don't Go
by AndSoIWrite
Summary: Dean knows it's usually harder for the ones you leave behind, but that doesn't stop him from rushing into the burning building.
1. Part One

**A/N: **You can thank Thoughtful Constellations for this one. She was pretty interested in the fifth chapter of Daddy Drabbles, my oneshot series, and wanted me to extend it further. Because she's pretty chill, I did. And it turned out much better than I expected it to. You don't have to read the Daddy Drabbles chapter to understand this at all. This takes place before that anyway. But if you're interested in the characters, wander over there after this and take a look.

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><p><strong>"Oh, if the sky comes falling down for you,<br>****There's nothing in this world I wouldn't do."  
><strong>**"Hey Brother" - Avicii**

Sydney woke to the smell of maple syrup. She'd inherited her father's sweet tooth but usually the only time they had pancakes was on Sundays because her mom said too much syrup would rot her teeth. Sydney always took that as an opportunity to point out she'd never had a cavity in her life.

Her dad was standing at the stove with her back to him when she stumbled into the kitchen, slipping onto one of the barstools at the counter and letting her legs swing.

"Morning," she said, resting her head on her palm. Her dad turned around and she saw he had the phone pressed to his ear. He waved with the spatula and gave her a goofy smile then turned back around to flip a pancake. "Can you put chocolate chips in mine?" she asked loudly and he held up a bag of the morsels above his head. Sydney grinned. It was scary how well her dad knew her but seeing as they'd never spent more than two nights away from each other, she understood.

"Dean Winchester," he said into the phone. "Yeah, Winchester. W-I-N-C-H-E-S-T-E-R. Great. Do I have to sign anything? No, okay great. Okay, bye."

"Who was that?" Sydney asked as he slid the phone away from the stove.

"Good morning to you too," Dean said and then glanced at his watch. "Or, afternoon."

"It's after noon? Why'd you let me sleep so long?" Her father shrugged.

"Your mom's at the office so I thought I'd give you a chance."

"It's Saturday. Why is Mom working?" Dean expertly stacked three pancakes and slid them onto a plate and placed them in front of her along with a pitcher of warm maple syrup.

"She has some big meeting on Monday and the office isn't open tomorrow so she went in today. She should be back by dinner. It's just you and me today, kiddo."

"That's okay with me," Sydney said, shoving a huge bite of chocolaty goodness into her mouth as her dad sat down next to her. Dean's daughter had sure inherited his appetite, along with his freckles and green eyes. But on her the combination was adorable, made even more so by the fact her brown hair was tousled from sleep.

"What do you want to do today?" Sydney shrugged. She was tall for an eleven year old with Dean's athletic build but she had her mom's calm demeanor, most of the time. The Winchester temper still wore through every now and then, not something Dean was particularly proud of. At least he had all the years of dealing with Sam to know how to handle Sydney when she was upset.

"I don't know. Watch TV?"

"Boring!" Dean announced. "C'mon, it's just you and me all day. Do you want to go to the movies?" Sydney's eyes lit up.

"Yeah! There's this new scary movie out about a haunted house and everyone in Math class said it was so good." Dean groaned. Another Winchester trait his kid possessed: she was interested in the supernatural and all things scary, despite the fact she knew nothing at all about hunting.

"No, anything but another scary movie." She smirked at him, the sticky syrup making her lips shiny.

"Are you a 'fraidy cat?"

"No!" Dean protested. "But you should broaden your horizons." Sydney licked her fork and watched him out of the corner of her eye.

"What does that mean?"

"It means you should watch something other than scary movies."

"Please, Daddy! Please!" Dean and Sydney both knew that he was helpless when she used her begging voice and the word Daddy. Dean had done a lot of great things in his life but if you asked him fifteen years ago he would have laughed and offered to buy you a shot. As unexpected as she had been, Sydney was probably the best thing to happen to Dean after his wife. The two of them had never talked about having a family but the little girl fit in the picture without a hitch and Dean couldn't fathom how he ever knew life without her.

They were out of the house within a couple hours and on the way to movies when Dean brought up Sydney's upcoming birthday.

"Hey kiddo, what do you want for your birthday?"

"A pony," she said promptly, grinning at him and sticking a CD in the car player.

"You're not getting a pony. We've talked about this."

"But Daaaaad, I've been taking lessons for a whole year. You said after a year we could talk about getting a horse." Dean frowned and tapped his fingers on the wheel.

"Did I say that?"

"Yes."

"I don't remember."

"Well, you did."

"How about a party?" he suggested. "We could invite your class. Have cake, balloons…"

"Dad, no one has balloons anymore. I'm turning twelve, not six." He looked over at her in mock shock.

"_No one_ likes balloons? I remember someone getting their tonsils out six months ago and liking very much all the balloons I brought home. Must have been my other daughter."

"That was different," she insisted, thumbing through the tracklist of the CD before putting on her favorite song.

"Can't we listen to real music?" Dean said as a pop song filled the car. He winced; another thing his daughter hadn't inherited was his taste in music.

"Mom says you shouldn't make fun of anyone else's music," Sydney said, sounding suspiciously like his wife. He had no idea what he was going to do when she was a full-fledged teenager. Probably lock her in her room and guard the door with a chainsaw.

"One day I'm going to introduce you to real music," Dean promised, pulling into the movie theater. "In the meantime, keep thinking what you want to do for your birthday. It's only three weeks away."

"I think a laser tag party would be cool," she said as they were waiting in line for popcorn because Dean knew that going to the movies was a waste of time unless there was popcorn involved. Lots of popcorn. "They have a room at the place and one whole wall is painted like a giant whale!"

"That would be cool," Dean agreed. "As long as I can play."

"Of course you can," she said, laughing. "But we're all going to beat you!"

"What, no you aren't!"

The argument lasted all the way to the theater where Dean was disgruntled to learn his daughter thought he was old _and _slow. He didn't feel old and he went to the gym as much as he could to keep in shape for his job. There was no way he was old and slow and he was going to prove it to her by beating her smart-aleck ass in laser tag. Just one game though and he'd let her win all the others.

The haunted house movie was probably the dumbest thing he'd ever seen and that included the _Blair Witch Project_. Apparently, it was a poltergeist all along but the stupid people didn't have any idea what they were doing so they all died except for the one girl. He assumed there would be a sequel and he'd probably get dragged to that one as well.

"Dad, can we get ice cream?" Sydney asked once they were back in the car.

"Aren't you full from all that popcorn?" he said, turning his phone back on to check his messages.

"No, you ate it all. Please?"

"Sure," he said. "Just let me listen to this voicemail. I think it's your Uncle Sam."

"Is he still coming for dinner tomorrow?" she asked but Dean shhhed her with a wave of his hand. She picked up the CD case from the floor of the car and decided what song to play next until her dad was off the phone.

"Hey kiddo, that was the firehouse," Dean said, turning the car on and pulling out.

"Okay?"

"There's a pretty major fire on the other side of town. A huge house they couldn't get under control. I'm going to go help out."

"But it's your day off," she said, frowning. She thought it was cool that her dad was a firefighter even though she knew her mom hated it because she said it was too dangerous. The worse thing that had ever happened to Dean was that he'd broken his leg. Besides he was good at the job and all the kids at school thought she had the coolest dad ever because he fought fires.

"I know. I won't be gone long, I'm just gonna go help out for a bit."

"Does this mean we can't get ice cream?" Dean sighed.

"I'm sorry. Maybe tonight after dinner?"

"Promise?"

"I promise that if I'm home in time for dinner – which I will be – we can go get ice cream."

"Pinky-swear?"

"Pinky-swear."

He took one hand off the wheel to wrap his pinky around her much smaller one and then Sydney settled back on the seat with a smug look on her face. Her dad was the best.

When they pulled in the drive, Sam's silver pick-up was already parked in front of the garage and he was just climbing out of it.

"Hey, Uncle Sam!" Sydney said, running to give him a hug. "Why are you here?"

"He's going to watch you while until your mother or I get home," Dean said.

"I'm not a baby," she protested. "I can stay by myself?"

"Hey, I can't spend time with my favorite niece?" Sydney rolled her eyes and started inside.

"I'm your only niece!" she called back and then slammed the front door.

"Thanks," Dean said, already getting back in the car. All his equipment was kept at the station and the message from the fire chief had sounded urgent. "I'll call Melissa on my way and let her know. I'm not sure what she planned for dinner so…"

"Dean, it's fine," Sam assured him, sticking his hands in his front pockets. He rocked back on his heels. "I've babysat her before."

"Alright, thanks again. I'll see you later. Don't be late for dinner tomorrow!"

Sam waited until Dean's car disappeared and then headed inside. Sydney was at the kitchen table, leaning over a piece of paper.

"Watcha doing?"

"Making invitations."

"For what?" She looked up at him with her eye narrowed.

"My birthday. Dad said I can have a laser tag party." She left out of the "duh" but Sam heard it loud and clear. Besides the occasional babysitting, he'd never spent much one-on-one time with his niece and he wasn't quite sure what to make of her. She had her father's wit and her mother's intelligence and that made her pretty intimidating, even for an eleven year old.

"That's pretty cool."

"Do you want to help? You can color," she said, pushing the paper at him where she'd drawn a big Happy Birthday in bubble letter surrounded by balloons.

"Sure," Sam said, sitting down. The crayons felt tiny in his massive hands and he was afraid he was going to snap one of them.

"Uncle Sam?" Sydney said a while later with her head still down over her paper. They had a good routine going: she drew the letters and balloons and Sam colored them in.

"Yeah?"

"Why don't you have a girlfriend?" He followed her lead and kept coloring but he could tell she was curious.

"I don't know, I guess I just haven't found the right girl."

"Huh."

"Your dad was real lucky when he found your mom."

"They met a restaurant," she told him as if he wouldn't know this. Sam kept a chuckle low in his throat; Dean and Melissa had actually met when she was a bartender and he was just passing through.

"Yep."

"Maybe you should go to more restaurants," she said, glancing up at him for the first time. She was up on her knees and there were pencil smudges all over her fingers. "You can come to my party and maybe you can meet a girl there," she said, eyes twinkling. "I'm going to write your invitation next!"

A while later and Sam started preparing dinner for Sydney. Neither Melissa nor Dean had called yet but that was normal. Melissa didn't get reception where she worked so the only way to communicate was to leave her voicemails. And Dean never took his phone into a fire with him; his cell would either be in the firetruck or back at the station.

"There you go," Sam said, putting a stack of grilled cheeses in front of them. Sydney's eyes got wide.

"Do we have to eat all of them?"

"What? No." She plucked the top sandwich off and then ran to the kitchen and returned with a jar of pickles.

"Dad always has pickles with sandwiches," she informed Sam and he couldn't believe he had forgotten that little detail about his own brother. They polished off three of the sandwiches in between them and then Sam wrapped the rest in tinfoil and cleaning up while Sydney took a shower.

She came back downstairs in her pajamas and her long hair dripping wet.

"When are they gonna be home?" she asked, flopping onto the couch. Sam was just wiping off the kitchen table and shrugged at her.

"I don't know. Whenever they're done." Sydney clicked on the TV and started surfing channels but didn't stop whining into the pillows.

"It's after eight, where are theeeeeyyy?" Over at the kitchen sink, Sam rolled his eyes but didn't say anything back. When he was finished, he grabbed his laptop and went to go join her in the living room. They watched some cheesy teenager movie for an hour or so and then Sam got bored and started browsing the internet, searching for paranormal activity just out of habit. He didn't hunt much anymore unless a younger Hunter needed some help, but he liked to keep up on what was going on. A news alert for the county flashed at the top of his screen and he sat up, clicking on it. He read all of two sentences then closed the laptop. Sydney was again browsing channels, kicking her feet absentmindedly against the end of the couch.

"Time for bed," Sam said and she looked over at him in surprise. Her uncle usually let her stay up way later than nine o'clock, and it wasn't even a school night.

"What?"

"You heard me. C'mon, go brush your teeth."

"But it's early," she said, sitting up. There was a red mark on one cheek where she had been laying against the pillow. It made her look a lot like younger than eleven and Sam had a hard time quelling the rising panic in his gut.

"Bedtime," he said firmly. She started to whine and he cut her off, "Now."

She dragged her feet the entire way to her room, whining about how this was unfair. "Life's not fair," Sam said as he stood in the doorway of her room, making sure she was

in bed and not just pretending. "Don't even think about sneaking out of bed." She scowled and turned on her side.

"You're being mean." Sam let the insult roll off him, wanting to get back to his computer as soon as possible. He had turned off the light and was halfway down the hall when he heard Sydney call out.

"Uncle Sam?" Gritting his teeth, he turned on his heel and headed back to her room.

"What's up?" Her face was a just a pale form in the darkness but her voice was small.

"Can you tell Dad to wake me up when he gets home? Just so I know he's back?"

"Sure," Sam said, knowing that this was a ritual for the two of them. "I'll send him right in as soon as he gets home."

"Thanks. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Syd."

Sam went back out into the living room and snapped open his laptop, thumbing through the new pages until he reached the one that interested him most.

**EAST WAVERLY HOUSE COLLAPSES, ONE INSIDE**

There was nothing to the article except the location of the fire and that everything was being done to ensure this person's survival. It was dated twenty-one minutes ago. Sam knew this was the fire Dean had gone to attend to – he just _knew_ – and his hands were shaking as he dialed Melissa's number. He didn't expect her to pick up but when she did, her voice was so breathy he could hardly understand what she was saying.

"Sam, is that you?"

"Hey, yeah, it's me. Where are you?" She was definitely crying, he could hear it in the way she kept gasping.

"I'm on my way to the hospital."

"Meliss, was it – was it him?" She sobbed just once and Sam almost crushed the phone in his hand.

"Y-yes. He was trapped in the basement but they just got him out, like two minutes ago. They're flying him to Mercy Hospital." Mercy Hospital was forty-five minutes away, half an hour past their local hospital and it was known for taking the most critical cases in the area. If Dean was being airlifted to Mercy…it wasn't good.

"What do you need me to do?" he asked.

"Can you s-stay with Sydney?" she asked, voice trembling. She sniffed loudly into the phone, trying to get her crying under control.

"Of course," Sam said. "Call me when you have news."

She hung up before he did and for a minute he just stared at the cellphone in his hand, dread collecting like rainwater in his stomach, making his limbs heavy and his head spin. He'd known this was going to happen sooner or later. He hadn't known if he was going to be hunting or a car accident or a freaking fire but he'd known that his brother was living on borrowed time because it was the Winchester way. Dean had been happy for too long and now it was coming back to bite him.

Sam didn't let himself browse anymore about the fire and instead just paced the house, making a loop from the living room to the kitchen and then down the hallway to check on Sydney. Despite her protests, she had gone to sleep early and was undisturbed by Sam's restlessness. When his phone rang an hour later, it was just Melissa saying they had taken Dean into surgery but she didn't know what for. When it rang three hours after that, she was crying again.

"It's not good," she said, voice hoarse. "I've been in to see him once but Sam – it's not good."

"What's wrong?" he asked, hating that he couldn't be at Dean's side.

"I think you better get down here. Bring Sydney." She refused to say another word over the phone and Sam didn't push her; the frailty of her words was enough proof for him to know that Dean was in trouble. He wondered vaguely as he walked to Sydney's room if his brother was even still alive, if Melissa didn't want to tell him over the phone. His heart shuddered at the thought of never getting to say goodbye, of having Dean ripped away from him like duct tape from his skin.

He turned on Sydney's bedside lamp and sat on the edge of her bed.

"Sydney, hey wake up." She blinked sleepily up at him, her hair almost completely out of the ponytail she'd gone to sleep in.

"Daddy?" she mumbled, squinting up at Sam.

"No, it's Uncle Sam." She sighed and shut her eyes against the light. Sam rubbed her back, using the motion to calm his own frantic nerves.

"Where's Dad?"

"We have to go see him," Sam said. "He got hurt in the fire, he's in the hospital." It didn't register for a few second and then Sydney opened her eyes again, examining Sam for truth and paling when she found it. She put her arms around Sam's neck and he scooped her up right off the bed, wrapping a blanket around her and taking her straight to his car.

"I'm just gonna go lock up the house," he said once she was in the passenger seat. She nodded and watched him through the windshield as he ran back into the house, coming out a minute later with his jacket.

They rolled down the street in silence, Sydney staring out the window at the streetlights. It was after one in the morning and she had never been out this last; the streets were empty and the playground down the road looked scary in the dark.

"Where's Mom?" she asked.

"She's at the hospital with your dad. We're going to meet her." Sam was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn't notice that Sydney had started crying. She was using a corner of the blanket to wipe away the tears as soon as they fell but she couldn't keep up. Sam reached over and patted her leg.

"It's okay, Syd."

"What h-happened?" she asked.

"I don't know," Sam said. He wasn't about to tell her that an entire building had fallen on her father; he would let Melissa decide on how much to tell her. He knew his own father wouldn't have held back any graphic details but Sam also knew that Dean made a point to act as differently from John as possible.

As scared as she was, Sydney couldn't help but fall asleep on the long drive to the hospital and Sam didn't mind as he was too busy worrying to try to keep up a happy façade. She didn't wake until he opened her door and she sat up and stretched her neck.

"Do you want me to carry you in?" Sam asked softly and she nodded. He settled her on his hip and shut the door, locking the truck before heading to the entrance Melissa had texted him. Sydney buried her face in her uncle's shoulder when they got inside.

"Hi," she heard Sam's deep throat say to someone and still she kept her eyes pinched shut. She had had to go to the hospital only once and that was to get her tonsils out. She hadn't really liked it because too many people touched her and it smelled funny and was always cold. It was cold now and she was still wrapped in the blanket Uncle Sam gave her because beneath it she was wearing only her pajamas.

"Uncle Sam," she whispered in his ear.

"Yeah?"

"I don't have any shoes on," she said, wiggling her bare toes.

"It's okay," he said. "We'll find you something."

"Am I too heavy?" she said, worried now because Uncle Sam looked like he was about to cry and she'd never seen him or Daddy cry.

"No, sweetheart," he said. "You're fine. I'm just trying to find out where De – where your dad is."

Sam walked them up to one of the top floors of the hospital when directed by the nurse. He stopped in a small waiting room before a set of double doors that had the letters ICU hanging above them in red letters.

"Chief Tony?" Sydney asked when Sam set her down in a chair. The man nearest them turned around and Sam saw it was the fire chief of Dean's station. He was still dressed in his uniform; his helmet was sitting on a chair across the room next to – Sam's stomach seemed to shrivel – the helmet he recognized as Dean's.

"Hey, Sydney," Tony said, clearly surprised to see the child. He shook Sam's hand.

"Have you seen my dad?" she asked, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders.

"Um, not yet." She frowned.

"Where's my mom?"

"She's with your Dad."

"Syd, I'm gonna talk with Tony down the hall, okay? Don't go anywhere and don't follow anyone." She rolled her eyes and tucked her feet up under her.

"I'm not stupid, I know not to talk to strangers."

"Good," Sam said. Tony followed him several yards down the wide hallway. He was a short, squat guy, not the typical fireman, but he could bench press more than Sam could and he'd do anything for his men.

"Sam, I'm so sorry," Tony started off with, shaking his head. He barely came up to Sam's chest.

"What happened?"

"There was a kid stuck inside. I think Dean knew the building was coming down – it had been burning a while – and he went in before we could formulate a solid plan. Got the kid out but not himself. From the way the kid was talking, it sounds like Dean got pinned under something and told the kid how to get out. The building collapsed about ten seconds after the kid made it clear."

"And Dean?" Tony shook his head, arms crossed tightly as if trying to keep the emotion inside his chest by sheer pressure. There was a snake tattoo on his forearm, the tail spiraling around his bicep, the head open in a hiss across the back of his hand.

"We got to him eventually but he's in a bad way. I haven't seen him yet but I talked to Melissa and she was almost hysterical. They calmed her down enough so that she could go back in a while ago. Sam, I'm sorry," he repeated. "I rode with him in the helicopter, didn't want him to be alone."

"Thanks," Sam said and although he meant it, the word came out sounding hollow. "Do you mind staying with Sydney while I go in there?"

"Of course not," Tony said, blinking away tears that Sam pretended not to notice.

"She – uh – doesn't know anything so maybe just keep her entertained for a while. She's pretty tired, I think."

"I'll take care of her," Tony said. "Tell Dean I say hi and that all the guys are rooting for him."

"I will," Sam said, clapping Tony on the shoulder for a brief moment. He'd never understood Dean's desire to be a firefighter, to work with a group of strangers when he'd always liked flying solo. But Dean thrived on the job, made fast friends with the guys, was always volunteering at blood drives and bake sales they held to raise money for new equipment. And in return, the respected the hell out of Dean Winchester. That part Sam had no problem understanding.

He walked through the double doors and was about to ask for Dean at the nurse's station when he caught sight of Dean's wife, Melissa, through a window. He waved at the nurse he was about to approach and instead walked into the small room. There were just two people in it: Melissa and the doctor Sam assumed who was taking care of Dean.

"Sam!" Melissa said in obvious relief when he walked over. She stood up and hugged him tight, leaning her forehead against his shoulder for a moment before letting go. He squeezed her hand. He'd always liked Melissa although he didn't know her that well, besides the fact she made Dean incredibly happy.

"How is he?" Sam asked as they both took a seat across from the doctor who was seated on the other side of the table. He had a file in front of him but it was closed and his hands were folded on top of it. Sam noticed he wasn't wearing a wedding ring.

"I was just telling Mrs. Winchester about her husband's condition. Dean suffered severe smoke inhalation. While he was trapped, he was exposed to all sorts of chemicals and poisons in the air. When things burn, they let off chemicals and gases; in a large house fire, there are copious amounts of these in the air and your brother suffered long-term exposure."

"What does that mean?" Sam asked. The doctor leaned into his folded hands and softened his voice.

"Dean ingested a large amount of cyanide," the doctor said with a straight face. "It was too late for the antidote by the time we got him to the hospital."

Melissa didn't move; in fact, it looked like she had turned to stone except for a tiny whimper that had Sam reaching for her hand.

"What are you saying?" Sam said, struggling to keep his voice from rising in hysteria.

"Mr. Winchester, Mrs. Winchester, there is nothing we can do for Dean but keep him comfortable." Sam felt heat rush through him as if there were a fire in this very room, his skin prickling with anger and disbelief and fear. The hand that wasn't holding onto Melissa ran through his hair.

"What do you mean? There has to be _something_." The doctor shook his head, looking truly sorry.

"There isn't. Cyanide is a fast-acting poison. He's going in and out of consciousness at the moment but it won't last. You need to think about saying goodbye while he's…cognizant."

"What will happen?" Melissa whispered. She wasn't crying, but her voice was barely a breath. The doctor's expression changed to one of sympathy.

"He'll remain awake until the poison reaches his brain and heart and then he'll go into a coma. He won't feel it. He's not in any pain," the doctor assured them. "We've given him heavy doses of morphine."

"There has to be something," Sam repeated although the insistence was gone in his voice. "We did attempt the antidote but it's not having any effects on the cyanide levels."

This time it was Melissa who squeezed Sam's hand. He glanced over at her and saw her eyes were wide and glassy with tears but she was still holding them back.

"Let's go see him," she said hoarsely. "I don't want him to be alone." They shook hands with the doctor and approached Dean's bed, Melissa still holding tightly onto Sam's fingers, almost crushing them in between hers.

Sam had seen Dean in a lot of hospital beds but he felt his knees start to buckle as he gazed at his brother. A breathing tube was down his throat, expanding his chest every few seconds while what seemed like a dozen other machines beeped and hummed next to him. His eyes were closed and Sam could see his eyelids were burned, the hair from his eyebrows mostly gone from where the fire had gotten too close. There were other burns on his face but he still resembled Dean, still looked like the big brother who had spent decades carrying the weight of the world plus Sam.

Melissa finally let go of Sam's hand and went to the bedside, sitting in a chair so that she leaned over the bed. With careful fingers, she brushed her hand through Dean's hair.

"Hey, honey," she whispered. "Hey, Sam's here."

For a minute, Sam was afraid that the inevitable had already happened, that the coma had taken hold, but then Dean's eyes blinked several times. Slowly, as if they weighed a hundred pounds each. Sam watched them hover unfocused for few minutes before slipping over to his wife.

"Hi," she said, choking slightly but recovering. She didn't want to scare or worry Dean. "You're in the hospital but it's okay. Sam's here." She motioned Sam over and he went with wooden legs, hardly able to keep upright with the way gravity seemed to be pulling at him from all directions. Melissa stood up and let Sam have the chair.

Dean's eyes went out of focus again and it took some soothing words for Sam before he could capture his brother's attention. The burns around his eyes only made the green sharper and more vibrant, a cruel trick in the light of what was coming.

"Hey bud," Sam said, adopting Melissa's quiet tone. "That's right, I'm right here. You're okay, just like she said." He took hold of Dean's hand, thankful it had remained unmarred by the fire; it would be too much if he could never touch his brother again. "You saved that kid, you know. He's going to be just fine." The hiss and pull of the ventilator was Dean's only reaction. His eyes seemed to be searching Sam's face for something, perhaps subconsciously looking for more consolation in the most familiar sight of his life.

"You did a real good job," Sam said, rubbing the back of his brother's hand with his thumb, drawing comforting circles into the cold skin. "We're so proud of you." He couldn't hold back the tears any longer when he felt Dean's fingers give a subtle twitch, trying to hold onto Sam's but failing. He glanced away and when he looked back, Dean's eyes were closed again.

"Sam," Melissa said, her voice sounding too loud in such a confined space. "Sam, I need to tell Sydney before…" She broke off, folding her arms across her chest. "I want – I want to give her the chance to say goodbye."

"Of course," he said. He'd forgotten all about Dean's daughter but of course Dean would need to see her one last time. Even if he couldn't tell Sam that, he knew that's what Dean would want. "What are you going to say?"

"I asked for a grief counselor to come talk to her. I knew, Sam, I just knew this was going to…" She couldn't seem to finish the thought and instead, pressed a kiss to Dean's forehead and walked back out of the room. Sam hated to leave, it was like leaving one of his lungs behind, but he followed her, knowing that she needed support and she was his responsibility now. She was Dean's family. His family.

"Okay," he said. "Let's go out and see her. She's in the waiting room with Tony." Melissa nodded and Sam walked behind her so she didn't say when he swiped his sleeve across his eyes.

"Mom!" Sydney yelled when Melissa walked through the doors. She threw off the blanket and ran across the room in her barefoot, launching herself into her mother's arms. Melissa clutched at her daughter for dear life, squeezing her hard until Sydney pulled away. "Mom's where Dad? No one is telling me anything." Sam knew that as smart as she was, the eleven year old probably had a good idea of what was going on. She knew that Dean was hurt badly enough that they were keeping her from him and it was enough to terrify the child. She was close to tears and she didn't even know the details.

"I know, sweetie. He got hurt pretty bad in a fire."

"Like when he broke his leg and had to be in a wheelchair?" Melissa paused and smoothed her daughter's hair.

"A little worse than that," she said. Sydney's brow furrowed; being in a wheelchair was pretty bad so she didn't know how much worse he could be hurt. Melissa was saved further explanation when a young woman came over and introduced herself.

"Hi," she said, shaking Melissa and Sam's hands. "My name is Kelly, I'm with the support services of the hospital."

"Hi," Melissa said, both hands on Sydney's shoulders. "This is Sydney." Kelly nodded and crouched down before the child.

"Hey Sydney, I'm Miss Kelly."

"Do you know my dad?" she asked, twisting her neck to look up at her mom and Uncle Sam.

"I met him a little while ago," Kelly said.

"Is he okay?" the girl whispered, lower lip trembling. Kelly took Sydney's hand and led her over to the chairs so they could talk. Sam and Melissa followed behind but gave them enough space.

"Sydney, your mom asked me to come talk to you because explaining about your dad is a little hard for her right now." She waited for Sydney to interject but the child was silent, expecting more explanation. "He was hurt pretty badly in the fire, some bad chemical got into his lungs." The lip was more than trembling now, it was an earthquake upon a worried face, a volcano about to spill over.

"Is he gonna die?" she asked, looking up again at her mom, not wanting to hear the answer but somehow already knowing it.

"Sydney, I know it's difficult to hear but your dad isn't going to get better. His lungs are too sick."

The girl started crying and spun around to cling to her mother, burying her face in her sweater. Kelly let her be for a minute and then started talking again.

"Sydney, I have to ask you something. Can you talk to me?" Melissa patted her daughter's back with encouragement and she peeked her face out, looking much younger than her actual age. She nodded at Kelly.

"If you want, you can see your dad. You don't have to and no one is going to make you. And it's totally okay if you don't want to, that's normal." Sydney bit her lip, looking up at Sam who tried to give her a smile. Melissa knelt down on one knee, putting her arm around Sydney's waist.

"It's up to you," Melissa said.

"I'm scared," Sydney whispered after a minute.

"That's okay," Kelly said. "It's a very scary thing to do. But knowing how close you and your dad were, it might make you feel better to say goodbye." Sydney deliberated for another few seconds before nodding.

"I want to."

"Okay," Kelly said. "You are one brave girl. I'm just going to tell you a couple things so you aren't afraid when you go inside." Sydney nodded and gripped her mom's hand tight.

"You dad's lungs aren't working so he has a big tube down his throat that helps him breathe. It doesn't hurt him but it's a little scary looking and it makes some weird noises that are kind of loud. Just remember it's there to help."

"Okay."

"He also got a few burns from the fire so he might not look exactly like the way he usually does. But he's still the same old dad."

"He's not old," Sydney said at once, shaking her head. "He doesn't it like it when you say that." Kelly smiled.

"My bad. It was just an expression. One more thing: you have to be very calm and brave when you see him so we don't scare him-,"

"My dad isn't scared of anything," Sydney interrupted. "Not even monsters."

"Wow, you sure are lucky to have such a brave dad," Kelly said. "He probably won't get scared but we just want to make sure. If you can't be calm, just tell one of us grown-ups and we'll take you out the room."

"I won't cry," Sydney said, the tears already vanishing.

"Okay, then I guess we can go in. Remember to stay quiet."

Sydney was fine until she got to the end of her dad's and then she froze. Kelly was right; her dad didn't look like normal. There were red and purple patches on his face and neck and part of his eyebrows were missing. Melissa felt the tug on her hand when Sydney stopped and she waited for her daughter to keep going. Sydney was too busy taking in the tube that was coming out of her dad's mouth. She tried to remember what Kelly said about it not hurting but just looking at it made her want to cough.

"It's okay." She turned to find Sam just behind her, squatting down. He was carrying the blanket that she had been wrapped in all night. "It's just your dad." Sydney had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from crying but she nodded at her uncle. "Do you want to say hi?" he suggested and she nodded again.

Her dad looked even worse up close because she could see where the heat had blistered his lips.

"Is he going to wake up at all?" she asked.

"Maybe," her mom said. "We don't know. But if you talk to him, he can hear you."

"Hi, Daddy," Sydney said, surprising everyone with the strength in her voice. "We all came to visit you to make you feel better." She glanced up at Kelly to make sure this was okay to say and the woman gave her a small smile. Sydney took a seat in the chair by the bed and pulled it up close so she could rest her feet on the lower rail of the bed; it made her feel closer to her dad.

"It's okay that we couldn't go for ice cream," she whispered near his ear so that only he could hearr. "I bet they have lots of ice cream in heaven." She paused so she could blink back tears. She didn't want to cry in front of him when he was so sick. She looked over at Kelly.

"Will it – will it hurt him if I touch him?" Kelly shook her head.

"You can hold his hand just be very gentle." Sydney turned back around and tentatively wrapped her small fingers inside her father's larger ones, noticing for the first time the calluses that decorated his palm.

"Daddy, remember that time when I was little and you built me that treehouse? It was when Mom was away and we got to camp out in the backyard and you showed me how to find the Big Dipper in the stars? Well, that was the best day of my whole life. I wanted to tell you that." She gripped his fingers tight as she went back to whispering.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of Uncle Sam for you. You said that he gets in trouble but I'll make sure he doesn't." She gasped when Dean's eyes flickered open, landing right on his daughter. She almost dropped his hand in shock but held on even more tightly when she saw he was looking at her. He couldn't take with the tube in his mouth but he looked like he wanted to say something and Sydney did start crying when her dad wrapped two of his fingers loosely around her wrist.

"I love you," she said, taking a shuddering breath before one of the adults made her leave. "I love you, Daddy. Please don't go."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **This is actually a two-parter. The second part deals with the aftermath and the relationship between Sydney and Sam. But what did you guys think of the beginning? Different, right?


	2. Part Two

**A/N: **I did change one little thing: I had Sydney start taking riding lessons for a year in Part One and I've changed that in this chapter. Doesn't really effect the story but thought I'd let you know in case anyone caught that.

* * *

><p>Her tights were too small. They pinched in at her belly button and rolled down in the back and sagged at the crotch no matter how many times she tried to pull them up. And they were itchy.<p>

But since Sydney had refused to go with her aunt to the mall, she'd been brought back the wrong size and everyone was too busy to care if she was a little uncomfortable. To be honest, she didn't even care that she uncomfortable but it was easier to think about how the backs of her knees itched than it was to think about the fact her dad was dead.

Dead.

As in never coming back.

It hadn't gotten any easier yet, every time she thought it. It still made her chest hurt as if she was the one with too much smoke in her lungs and sometimes she cried at random times like microwaving some food or brushing her teeth. She'd be staring at her reflection or the back of her hand or the kitchen table and just start crying.

She never cried before her dad died.

It's been a whole week since the fire, five days since Dean Winchester the Hunter died a heroic but awful death in a hospital bed hooked up to a million machines with his brother and wife sitting next to him, each holding a hand. He was unconscious and didn't know that both of them were crying or that his daughter was at home staring at her ceiling when she was supposed to be sleeping. And he didn't know that when he breathed in at 3:48 on the morning of November 10th that it would be the last time.

Her mom had told her. She and Uncle Sam had both come home before the sun was even up and crept into her room where she was half asleep and half not.

"Sydney?" Her mom's voice sounded much louder than a whisper and the girl had tried in vain to cover her ears with her hands, burrowing herself underneath the thick comforter to block out the words. "Sydney, sweetie, come here." Her mother pulled her into her arms even though eleven year olds weren't supposed to fit on their mom's lap. As her mother crushed Sydney to her chest, she saw Uncle Sam standing at the doorway, just a shadow against the hallway light. And finally she buried her head in her mother's long hair and cried.

Now it was the funeral and so she was sitting in the kitchen with her itchy tights and a black dress she'd never seen before and the shoes she had gotten a couple weeks ago for the big Christmas party at school next month. When she and her mom picked them up a couple weeks ago, she'd loved them. They had a sparkly strap that went across her ankle and a tiny heel that made her feel much older. She'd danced around the house in them while her dad complained she was too young for such fancy shoes and she'd laughed at him before running to her room.

She hated the stupid shoes now.

A lot of people were in the house: her mom and Uncle Sam as usual but also her grandparents and her aunt and uncle and her three cousins who had been told to stay out of her way. Chief Tony was there too for some reason but she didn't mind because he actually didn't say a lot, just like her dad. He just kind of stood off to the corner of the living room with his hands in his pockets while everyone else rushed around putting on scarves and lipstick and tying ties. Her dad had known how to tie a tie. But for some reason her uncle didn't know how and that bothered her. He was older than her dad had been anyway. Maybe the person who didn't know how to tie a tie should have died.

"Sydney, are you ready?" Her mom was coming down the hallway from her bedroom in a dress that she recognized from somewhere.

"You can't wear that," Sydney said. Melissa Winchester glanced down at the modest black dress she'd found in the far left side of her closet. They were supposed to be at the church in ten minutes.

"Why not?"

"Because," Sydney said, staring at the dress without blinking. There was a strong possibility she was going to start crying again. Her hands curled into fists so that her nails bit into her palms; that helped a little bit. "That's the dress you wore to the fire station Christmas party last year." Her mother continued to stare blankly. "With dad," Sydney finished when her mother didn't get the hint. Melissa blinked, looked down at the dress again, then up at her pale-faced daughter.

"I – I don't have anything else," she said. "You look pretty though."

"My tights are itchy," Sydney mumbled but her mother didn't hear because Uncle Sam had come up to them and whispered in her mom's ear, his hand reaching out to pat Sydney on the shoulder. Uncle Sam also knew how to tie his own tie.

"Let's get going," her mother said and she let Chief Tony walk her out the car while her daughter followed behind.

The funeral in the church wasn't so bad: Sydney just pretended she was somewhere else. It was harder when they were outside at the cemetery and the casket was right there in front of her. She half-hid behind Uncle Sam because honestly the thought of her father in that black coffin was really creepy and it was also cold outside and Sam was good at wrapping her in his long overcoat when a gust of wind blew by them.

They wanted her to throw a handful of dirt but when she shook her head and refused, no one pushed her. And when they started covering her dad up she started crying _again_ and Uncle Sam walked her away from all the people while her mom stayed and talked a minute. Sydney figured that adults were way better at talking than kids because that's all they seemed to do. She missed her dad, who hadn't really talked all that much. He'd been a hugger and a tucker-in and sometimes he'd kiss the top of her head but he never talked more than he needed to. She wondered who would tuck her in now.

"It's pretty awful, isn't it?" Sam said, watching the scene over his shoulder while the girl in front of him shivered. She was wearing her winter coat but it was freezing even for a November morning and her dress only came down to her knees. Someone had curled her reddish-brown hair and stuck a black bow in it but most of it had been blown into knots by the wind and he smoothed it down with his hand. She nodded against his stomach, pressing her face into his suit jacket.

Sam was glad to lead her away from the too many people that were standing at the open mouth of Dean's grave. It wasn't right, Sam thought. Hunters were never buried in such luxurious ceremonies, in coffins with satin lining and brass handles. Not that Sam wasn't astounded by the number of people Dean had impacted in his life, but it was uncomfortable, as if he was wearing shoes a size too small.

He'd been there when they had withdrawn the ventilator and he was holding Dean's strong hand when his brother took his last breaths on his own and slipped from this world into the next without so much as a goodbye. Sam had temporarily moved in with his brother's family, knowing that needed something to do and also knowing Dean would want someone to take care of them after he was gone. Melissa was holding up as well as was to be expected with infrequent tears and just a lot of sighing and staring into space. Both of them had been kept busy by the funeral arrangements and he supposed it was going to get worse in the days following. But Sydney was the one who was worrying him. She barely talked anymore, barely ate anything at all even though the fridge was stocked with food from sympathetic friends and neighbors. She would sit at the kitchen table until someone suggested she move to the living room and she would sit there until it was time for bed and he didn't think she slept much at all because every time he passed her room, she was tossing and turning.

Sam hated Dean for leaving him behind but he hated him even more for leaving his own daughter. She was lost without him. Sam was an adult; he would find his way eventually, but this little girl with her eyes squeezed shut and her toes curled against the cold was suddenly without her anchor, tempted by the wind and sea to float away and never return.

xxx

Uncle and niece were separated when they got back to the house, where everyone in the world seemed to show up to eat food and talk about Dean and look at pictures of Dean and tell Sydney how much her father loved her.

"Duh," she wanted to say when they told her this. What a stupid thing to say. Of course he loved her. It's not like she was going to forgot now that he was…not here. Instead she bit her tongue and said, "I know" and watched them wander off to get more rolls or salad. That was the other thing. Everyone kept trying to feed her. Beyond the rolls and salad there was about four different kinds of pasta and potatoes and weird vegetables she had never seen before in her life She wanted to stand on one of the fancy dining room chairs and shout, "My dad didn't even _like _vegetables!"

The flock of people pressing in on her was so overwhelming that she fled to her room and shut the door, an obvious don't-come-in-or-I'll-kick-you sign to anyone who walked by. For a second she just stood there, feeling very much like sliding down the door until she was curled up on the carpet. This was her plan of procedure until a picture on her dresser caught her eye. She paused in her journey to the floor and hoisted herself back up, picking up the picture frame. She'd almost forgotten all about this one, her eyes just skipping over it every day when she went to grab her clothes. Because it was old and slightly out of focus and in one of those cheesy Disneyland frames from when she was six, and also because it had been in her room for that long.

It was a picture of her and her Dad writing a carousel when she was little. That summer he had grudgingly agreed to take her to Disneyland despite absolutely hating the humidity and oppressive heat of Florida. It also went against one of her Dad's main rules of 'no crowds'. She'd never thought about that last rule much, she had always assumed he just didn't like people which was okay. She didn't either. But he had agreed and they'd flown down to Florida on spring break where Melissa had promptly gotten food poisoning and had to stay in the hotel for three whole days.

Dean had taken his daughter on all the rides she could gain entry to, had given in to every absurd request for cotton candy or a henna tattoo or facepainting. They had sat first row at the dolphin show and gotten soaked and then went and laid on a park bench to get dry again. She could still remember laying across his stomach with his arms wrapped loosely around her. The best part had been the carousel though, which they had ridden every day at least five times, sometimes in a row. Her mother had stayed off the circling ride and snapped the pictures but her father had accompanied her every time, standing protectively at the head of the ceramic horse to make sure the wild steed didn't run away with his daughter, just like they did in Mary Poppins. Sydney couldn't remember much else from that vacation but those trips around the carousel had always stuck with her. It was, after all, where her love for horses at first blossomed. She'd come home and demanded to start riding lessons and after a few months of protestations, Dean had finally given in, although he still viewed the sport as too dangerous. It was true that they were supposed to go shopping for her first horse the next summer when he had time off work and she wasn't in school. Now…

She didn't want a horse if her dad couldn't pick it out with her.

Sydney took the picture out of the bulky frame and crossed the room to her bed where she just sat and stared at it, holding it as if it were made out of precious diamonds, afraid to smudge it with fingerprints. She pressed it to her chest when there was a knock on the door followed by it's opening. She had expected to see her mom, perhaps coming to scold her for hiding but instead Uncle Sam made his way into her room, followed by two other men she didn't know.

"Hey," he said softly, squatting down in front of her. "Didn't feel like talking?" She shook her head and gripped the picture tighter. "Can I introduce you to a couple of your Dad's friends? They wanted to meet you." She glanced at them overtop of Sam's long hair: they were both short but one was super weird looking with a big nose and small mouth and the other was slim and dark-haired. However funny they looked, they were both watching her with kind eyes, softer than most people's. She nodded.

"This is Garth," Sam said, turning on one heel and pointing to the really odd looking guy. He smiled and waved one hand.

"Hey, Sydney. Nice to meet ya." He spoke as funny as he looked, as if his tongue was bouncing up and down when he talked and she was tempted to smile at the funny accent.

"And that's Kevin." The other guy, who she could tell was younger than Uncle Sam, smiled at her. "They just wanted to say hi."

"They were friends?" she asked Sam and he nodded. A whole slew of Hunters had showed up briefly for the funeral but only a few had stuck around for the gathering afterward. Neither Garth nor Kevin had ever met Sydney on Dean's terms that she was to know as little about the Hunting world as possible, but it seemed appropriate now to introduce the kid to a couple of her father's closest friends.

"I lived with your dad for a while," Kevin offered. "You know what my favorite part about him was?" She shook her head, still holding the picture. "When he used to tell jokes." Sydney couldn't help it, she cracked a smile.

"He used to tell me a lot too," she said. "But they were pretty bad." Sam, Kevin, and Garth all chuckled.

"They were," Sam said, patting her on the knee and swinging up to sit next to her on the bed.

"One time your Daddy and I were out eatin' and he ate himself a whole pie. Just sat there and ate the thing with a fork, bless his heart."

"A whole pie?" Sydney asked, eyes wide. "Was it cherry 'cause that was his favorite kind?"

"You know," Garth said, scratching his head. "I'm darn sure it was cherry. I just now remembered that."

Dean Winchester's daughter beamed.

xxx

"Sydney, it's time to go to the barn!"

Uncle Sam's voice carried through the house a lot more than her mom's did, Sydney thought as she jammed a pillow over her head. He wasn't loud most of the time but when he yelled, the china cabinet shuddered. She waited another minute and then the door opened, just like she knew it would.

"You aren't dressed."

"I don't want to go." Her mother would usually sigh at this point but there was silence from Sam as he considered the prone figure splayed out on the bed. It was two in the afternoon and she was still dressed in her pajamas. In fact, if Sydney wasn't in school, she was usually in her pajamas.

"You've missed four weeks," he said gently, coming inside the room. She peeked out from under the pillow and found him staring at a picture of Dean she kept on the bedside. She had a lot of them in her room now, most of her and him together, but this one was of just him, taken only a few months ago. He'd been raking leaves and someone had taken the picture just as he turned to laugh at the camera.

"I know," she said. "But I don't feel like it."

"I drove past yesterday and they had the barn all dressed up for Christmas. Wreaths and ribbons on the outside."

"I don't want to go," she repeated, stuffing her head back under the pillow. Sam didn't say anything but he did pull at her blankets, trying to untangle them and therefore finding the unfamiliar swath of cloth wrapped up in the sheets.

"What's this?" he said and Sydney looked.

"Don't touch it!" she shrieked, pulling the material out of his hands and stuffing it under her, curling herself up around it.

"What is that?" Sam asked, completely taken aback by the outburst. The child had retreated further into her quiet shell in the month since Dean's death and had certainly never screamed at him like that before.

"Nothing," she said, pressing her cheek into the blanket or whatever it was.

"Syd," he said, suspicion starting to sneak in. He'd seen that dark blue and green pattern before. "Syd, is that your dad's bathrobe?" She didn't answer, just pulled her knees up to her chin and clutched the robe tighter to her face. Sam sighed. He had no idea how to handle her; it was Dean who had been the one able to get his daughter to unfurl her emotions, not him. He was no father.

"It smells like him," came a muffled whisper and Sam's heart was a lead weight dropping to his stomach. "It still smells like him," she said and he pulled gentle fingers through her hair, rubbing her back. "I don't want Mom to wash it so I hide it."

"Okay," Sam said. "It's okay, no one's going to take it from you."

"I don't want to go my lesson," she said, and he nodded and let it go.

xxx

A week later and Sam was once again on babysitting duty. Another Saturday afternoon spent at his dead brother's house, a little more than a week until Christmas. A tree had been erected in the living room and he'd spent an evening putting lights on it with Sydney watching TV next to him. Presents were scattered beneath it, most addressed to Sydney but some addressed to Melissa and Sam, an effort to reconnect the broken family. The pink tie she'd bought her father for Christmas was still in Sydney's closet because she couldn't decide if she wanted to keep it, throw it out, or give it to Uncle Sam.

"Syd, time to go!" he said, remembering the disaster of last week and how she had started crying when he made scrambled eggs and pancakes for dinner.

"I'm not going!"

"Yes, you are," Sam said. "Let's go." She looked over in surprise; Uncle Sam hardly every made her do anything these days and her TV show had just started.

"No."

"Yes." He reached over and turned off the TV. "You don't have to ride but you do have to go visit the barn. And if you want to stop riding, you have to tell your teacher yourself."

"Can't you or Mom do it?"

"Nope. That's part of being twelve." She scowled but stomped away to put her boots and jacket on. She hated being reminded that she was twelve. She hadn't wanted to celebrate her birthday at all – there had been no party – but her Mom and Uncle Sam insisted on buying a cake and singing Happy Birthday. All she could think about though was the fact her dad wasn't there.

The drive to the barn was short thankfully, because being cooped up in Uncle Sam's truck with the heat going was like suffocating. The radio was playing Christmas music no matter what stationed they switched it to so they ended up riding in silence most of the way.

"Hey, Sydney!" Her riding instructor, Mrs. Beverly was waiting for her out front. The lady was old – almost grandmother old – but she could move faster than most of the kids around the place. Right now she was bouncing on her toes trying to stay warm, a giant red scarf wrapped around her neck.

"Hi," Sydney said, allowing herself to be pulled into a hug that smelled largely of horse.

"How are you doing?"

"Fine."

"Sydney," Sam said, getting out of the truck. "We have a surprise for you."

"What?" Mrs. Beverly was smiling and so was Uncle Sam and then he pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to her.

"Don't open it yet," he said and they started leading her into the barn. She barely followed, numb feet stumbling because the writing on the front of the envelope was so familiar. All caps, a fast scrawl, a weird curl to the second 'y'.

It was her dad's handwriting.

Every part of her was shaking as they made their way inside; all she wanted to do was rip open the envelope. It was freaking her out, knowing her father had touched this very piece of paper that she was holding now.

"Here," Mrs. Beverly said, stopping the other two in front of a stall. It took a minute to adjust to the darkness that was beyond the bars but after a few seconds, Sydney could make out a horse.

A very, very ugly horse.

He was dirt brown with absolutely no markings and his mane was scraggly and had hay sticking out of it. Dirt caked his skinny legs and stomach and he had a scar across his chest. A backbone led into two hipbones that stuck out painfully. She had never seen a sorrier looking animal.

"So?" she said, not meaning to sound so harsh. The animal turned at the sound of her voice and she found herself looking into eyes the color of melted milk chocolate with lashes as long as a supermodel's. "Who is he?" she asked, softer this time.

"You can open the letter now," Sam said, also watching the creature. The animal took a tentative step toward them, stretching out his nose in interest. Mrs. Beverly fed him a carrot out of her pocket and Sydney was aware of the loud crunching as she fumbled with the envelope. It was indeed a letter and it was – her heart ached – written in her father's handwriting. She had to pause before reading. She glanced up at the horse who seemed to be watching her, waiting for something. Then she read.

_Hey Sydney girl,_

_ I'm writing this letter just in case I have to work on your birthday. I hope I don't but if I do, here's this for now and I'll be home for cake and ice cream later. I know we talked about getting a horse for you this summer but then this guy stumbled across my path, sort of just dropped in out of nowhere you could say. _

_ I know he's not very pretty and he probably won't ever be the blue ribbon horse that you wanted but he does need one thing you can give him. Love. You are so good at loving, Sydney, and I know you'll give this guy a fair chance. He deserves it. I am so proud of you and the wonderful young woman you have become and I can't wait to see what you do with the rest of your life. You amaze me every day. _

_ Anyway, I named him Bobby, I hope you don't mind. Someday, I'll tell you more about the real-life Bobby who raised me and Uncle Sam but for now, just know that he was one of the greatest guys I ever knew, even if he was a little worn down and rough around the edges. Just like the Bobby in front of you. _

_ Happy Birthday, sweetheart, and remember, I love you._

_ Love, Dad_

Sydney was crying when she looked up but she brushed the tears away, not wanting to get the letter wet.

"He did this?" she asked the two adults. They were misty-eyed as well and nodded at her.

"He came out here a couple times a week to check on this guy," Mrs. Beverly said. "Your dad always wanted to feed him and pet him and make sure he was going to be the right kind of horse for you. And he is. He's gentle but he's going to need some work. But your dad picked a good one." Sydney nodded and stuck a hand through the bars of the stall. Bobby ambled up to her and snorted a warm breath into her waiting fingers. She smiled and then her eyes widened.

Bobby wasn't just an ugly all-brown horse after all. On his back were two dark patches, starting at his spine and fanning outward along his flanks. They were curious looking and oddly placed and it took her a minute to realize what they reminded her of.

They looked almost like wings.

Almost like an angel_._

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><p><strong>AN: **Please let me know if you liked - or didn't - this little piece. It is a bit different than my usual stuff, I know, so I'd love some feedback. Thanks for reading.


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